


The Tale Of The Wheelbarrow That Thought "The Hell With This"

by beer_good



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Barry to the rescue, Crack Relationships, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beer_good/pseuds/beer_good
Summary: Barry the Wheelbarrow finally has enough of the abuse the crew heap on him, and decides to go on an adventure of his own. If he happens to rescue the Cat-tank along the way, well, all the better.Continues fromPage 870and isn't technically an AUyet...





	The Tale Of The Wheelbarrow That Thought "The Hell With This"

**Title:** The Tale Of The Wheelbarrow That Thought "The Hell With This"  
**Author:** Beer Good   
**Fandom:** Stand Still, Stay Silent  
**Pairing:** Barry the Wheelbarrow/The Cat-tank  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Word count:** ~800  
**Summary:** Barry the Wheelbarrow finally has enough of the abuse the crew heap on him, and decides to go on an adventure of his own. If he happens to rescue the cat-tank along the way, well, all the better.

**The Tale Of The Wheelbarrow That Thought "The Hell With This"**

This just wasn't OK, Barry the Wheelbarrow thought several times as the Fat One rolled him along streets that hadn't been repaved in a long time. At first he'd been excited about going on a road trip; as familiar as the hardware section of the store had been, it had been kind of same-y for the past 90 years. Helping some travellers carry a few books and stuff seemed like a nice change of pace.

But then they were all upset about something and started bickering constantly for days, and just to make things worse, the Sick One refused to walk and they threw her too on top of him. His old handles creaked as his load doubled, and it became even more apparent that nobody had bothered checking the tire pressure on his wheel. But what's a wheelbarrow to do? He gritted his axle and rolled on while the humans kept on being depressing. Until suddenly the Sad One ran off, the Sick One started screaming (right in Barry's wheel, too), and the Fat One put Barry down so roughly that the Sick One tumbled off him and he almost toppled over.

It was then that Barry the Wheelbarrow thought "The hell with this."

You don't spend 90 years surrounded by weird mutant monsters without learning a thing or two about adapting. Barry's steel joints creaked as he leaned first left, then right, then left again, until his legs had become mobile enough that he was able to turn himself around and start rolling himself back the way he'd come, leaving the squabbling humans to their fate.

 

* * *

A few hours later, Barry was making good time down the same road they'd come up on. He didn't really have any specific plans and he was in no hurry to get back to the drafty old hardware department, but it was a road he knew. Newly sentient or not, he was still a wheelbarrow with very limited navigation abilities. As he rolled along, he occasionally gave a little shrug to toss off some of the meaningless stuff the humans left in him, but he kept the books. It wasn't as if there was a whole lot of traffic to stay clear of, so he might as well do some light reading. The trick was to hit bumps in the road just right to turn the pages, which wasn't the speediest reading method, but he had time. There were a couple of novels, mostly about divorced cops who drank too much, a few technical books, a bunch of really boring medical journals (he shrugged those off the first chance he got) and one book entirely about shrimp. He tired of that one quickly.

He rolled through the night - it wasn't as if the trolls cared about a wheelbarrow - and as the sun came up he was still rolling along, reading a fun book about a beach, and suddenly remembered that the hardware department had been next to home electronics. He hadn't heard music in 90 years, but it seemed this sort of thing called for music, so he tried to remember a few songs.

"They see me rollin'," his wheel squeaked to itself; "they hatin'."

 

* * *

When after several days he came upon the clearing where they'd first loaded him up, he paused to stretch his legs. He'd come a long way, and he was really starting to feel that he wasn't built for this. The old vehicle the humans had presumably come here in still sat there, unmoving, the morning sun glinting off the highbeams on her roof. She was beautiful, he thought. How typical of humans to leave her here and give him her job without asking either of them.

He rolled up to the cat-tank and nudged her. No reaction. Her hood was still up, and the rainwater had washed all the soot away from the burned-out engine. He felt almost embarrassed, in as much as a wheelbarrow can feel embarrassment, as he could see every detail of her engine. Hang on, he thought, didn't he have a book on electric engines…?

After she coughed to life and got her bearings, she stared at him in shock. He shrugged as noncommittally as he could; aw shucks, 'twas nothing, little lady. Her horn gave a long, sweet beep; _How can I ever repay you?_

He stretched his creaking legs again and, well, since she asked, he could use a lift, just in case they were both going the same way, far away from this mess…?

 

* * *

As the cat-tank rolled down the road, purring like a car reborn… uh, rebuilt, Barry leaned back in her seat and ran his handle over the smooth fabric. The light on her control panel glowed a little extra red in response. "HAMBURG 242 KM", a sign read. Barry wondered if there might be others like them down there. Oh well, he'd… they'd find out soon enough, he thought.


End file.
